Alter
by Annie O'Daire
Summary: "She's pregnant, Nay," Jenna whispered. And that's when the world came crashing down. heya
1. Chapter 1

"**She's pregnant, Nay," Jenna whispered.**

**And that's when the world came crashing down.**

"_To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever."_

_Jeanette Winterson_

All Naya was doing was cleaning the kitchen. She was wiping some post-Easter mess off the granite counters; there was always a mess. The holidays had been fun—her whole family came to her house for the first Easter ever. Usually all of the kids met at their mom's house and their dad either showed up or didn't- most of the time the latter. But he had come this time, probably because he wouldn't have to deal with the shattered memories of the house they all once used to coexist in together. But in the end, Easter was nice; she'd missed the sincerity and relaxed position of her nuclear family, minus the drama that came with famous children, show business jobs, away football games, and fashion shows that no one ever seemed to be able to get to. The peace and quiet of just these four people was what she needed after the trials and tribulations of the past year. Even though her parents were divorced, she knew they got along for the kids—but Naya would even go so far to say she still thought they loved each other. Mychal just said she was wishfully thinking. But she argued, why else would they play-fight, flirting about who's the funnier person? Why else would they laugh too hard at each other's jokes? Why else would they offer each other more wine, shyly, like new lovers? They spilled that wine. She had been scrubbing endlessly at the stain the wine left. She had only put the now nasty rag down for a second before the phone was ringing. She was almost grateful for the excuse to quit scrubbing. Naya stepped away from the counter, running a little towards the hall phone. Caller ID said it was Jenna.

"Jen- what's up?" It was late. She shouldn't have been calling so late.

Something was wrong.

"Naya, hey. How are you? Are you doing good? Have a good Easter?"

God, she was nervous. Jenna was never nervous over the phone.

Something was really wrong.

"What's wrong, Jenna? Is everything okay?"

There was hesitation on the other end—"eh"s and "uh"s from the end of the line that showed a delayed answer to a question that Naya already knew the answer to. The answer was no. Everything was certainly not okay.

There was a sharp breath. A sigh.

"Jenna, if there's something wrong, tell me. Let me help."

"No one told you, did they?"

No one told her something. No one told her because her phone has been off for four days. Four days ago, she couldn't handle the sea of information flooding her phone, the tweets, the manager, the producers, the agents, the friends just calling to talk. It was too much, so cut the phone off—her cell, the house phones, everything. She used the holiday with her family as an excuse, but really she just wanted some quiet. She turned her phone off and curled up on the couch, in the middle of the too big love seat, and who the hell really needs a love seat when love sucks so much, and GOD why does "The Notebook" have to rip her heart out so much? Naya ate all the foods her producers encouraged her not to—pasta, ice cream, chocolate, chips, fried chicken—everything she LOVED, but knew would cause her legs some damage. She didn't work out either. Too bad she didn't care.

But now, four days after the world stopped for just a little while, there was something she didn't know that she should have. Something Jenna knew and was checking in on Naya about. Something Jenna wasn't expecting to have to tell Naya because she assumed Naya already knew. But this something made Naya's heart stop in her chest, made her chest feel like rocks were dropping into her gut.

Jenna hadn't even told her yet, and she could easily die.

"What is it? What happened?"

"Didn't someone call? Lea? Dianna?"

"Why would someone call? Jen, what happened?"

Jenna took a deep breath, and Naya's panic grew. She never should have turned the damned phone back on.

But she did.

And Jenna told her the last thing she wanted to hear.

"She's pregnant, Nay," Jenna whispered.

Jenna didn't have to specify who the "she" indicated.

There was only one person who could be pregnant that it would matter if Naya knew or not.

_Heather._

Naya let the phone fall lightly out of her hands onto the counter.

She held onto the counter; her knuckles were white.

She didn't hear Jenna trying to get her to answer whatever she was asking on the line.

She bent down a little, her butt touching the floor with her knees hitting her chin.

The tears fell lightly at first, but then harder.

And that's when the world came _crashing_ down.


	2. Chapter 2

"_But the thing about remembering is that you don't forget."_

_Tim O'Brien_

Most people didn't know that Heather and Naya had hooked up in real life. Naya thinks even Heather denied it herself—she was that guilty. It was never about love, it was never about sensuality; it was about the connection from a fake scenario that they never would have been put in if Ryan had never made the "Brittana" storyline. Naya was thrilled when that plot was written; she'd always had a little bit of a crush on Heather. Heather never knew. While she was way smarter than her on-set character, she was still quite the blonde, and with that came the lack of ability to see what was right in front of her on more than one occasion. In this case, it was Naya. She never knew Naya had feelings that were more than, "Oh, yeah, Heather Morris? She's my best friend." They did everything together. They went everywhere together. And there was no reason they shouldn't have—they were best friends. The minute the two women met, it was as if some force had brought them together, like the universe had secretly told Naya that _here_, here she is, the girl you'll love forever.

No, it was never about love.

Or sensuality.

It was about the passion, the thrill, the timid but _totally_ hot resistance Heather made when Naya gently touched her shoulder, pulled down the spaghetti strap of her workout shirt after yoga that afternoon.

It was about the soft and _just there_ touch of fingertips on Naya's face when Heather got the clue—when Heather finally understood why Naya got so damn excited about those Brittana scenes.

It was about the hot bodies pressed together in the hammock on the back porch of Heather's apartment—the apartment she shared with the love of her life.

It _wasn't _about the cheating part.

It _wasn't _about the guilt to follow.

It was just a moment, a tiny jolt in Naya's chest when recognition took over Heather's face. It was just a tickle in the back of her heart where she thought maybe, _maybe_ it could work after all.

But Naya knew it wouldn't. She knew when Heather told her she had to leave before _he_ got home. She knew when, hastily, Heather gathered all of the clothes Naya dropped and didn't care to pick up on the journey to the bedroom, telling her to "get dressed, we look ridiculous." She knew when, when she begged Heather to rethink the past two years, to let Naya be _hers _and love_ her_, and Heather gave her the most misunderstood, _what in hell are you thinking?_ look Naya had ever seen.

She knew it would never work in her favour. The world couldn't be that easy.

No, easy wasn't, isn't, and never would be a part of it. Easy would be too simple; easy would be unrealistic.

Easy would be… easy.

Easy wouldn't include the past year, walking past Heather in a small talk fashion, never having more than a "hi, how are you, how's your family" conversation before the more than necessary yet totally unwanted (on Naya's part) distraction came busting in, swooping one of the two women back into whatever was going on before their passing. Easy wouldn't include seeing the Brittana moments dwindling down to nonexistent because of the newly acquired "Bram." Easy wouldn't include the ultimate decision to buy a dog because who else will let her hold her without fighting it, without resisting because of another love?

Easy wouldn't include the news of Heather's pregnancy.

Easy wouldn't include the dull ache of a blade in her heart as Naya journeyed to her bed and didn't get back out for six days.

No, she didn't get up. She didn't answer the door when it rang multiple times, friends begging her to let them in. She didn't get up when the urge to pee was so persistent that if she didn't, she thought her insides would burst.

The urge passed eventually.

She didn't get up when her phone sang to her through the voices of The Bee Gees, when over and over again the chorus sang to her, "_How Deep Is Your Love, How Deep Is Your Love_…" until she swore and banged the phone with the outside of her first enough times to make the glass screen crack.

She swore then, too.

She bled.

But she didn't get up.

She didn't even get up when a different song played.

"A Song For You," by Donny Hathaway.

But that song was for Heather, and that meant Heather was calling.

Naya picked up the phone, looked at the icon representing Heather's contact in her phone. It was the two of them after a drunk night in Cancun with the rest of the cast—god, was Heather cute.

Naya glanced at the phone for two more seconds—she counted—and then she threw the phone as hard as she could into the wall. It broke into pieces before her eyes.

She rolled over and slept away the memory.


	3. Chapter 3

"_Life moves on and so should we."_

_Spencer Johnson_

Groggy eyes opened to someone on top of Naya Rivera, someone shaking her shoulders, her head bobbing back and forth, her eyes now coming open to see a blond haired being trying desperately to wake her. Naya was foolish to think through her blurry vision it could be Heather; it was Dianna.

"Naya, what in god's good name are you doing in bed? We have a damn _scene _to shoot in twenty minutes and you haven't even gotten out of _bed_? What is wrong with you?! It doesn't help you've missed the last two scenes and didn't even bother to call! Ryan is FURIOUS!"

How long had she been sleeping, for heaven's sake?

"Di, nice to see you, too." Naya lulled her head back to look at the ceiling, willing away tears that came with being conscious.

"Look at me, Naya! You're not _hearing_ me! You've gotta get up. Now. Come on, now, you're waking up, we're going to the set, but you have to shower. Dammit, Naya, you smell _so _gross."

Dianna looked crazy. Her hair was wild, her hands flailed in frustration as Naya held onto the bed with any and all of the grasp she could manage on the slippery silk sheets.

But hell, did Di pull.

Naya ended up standing at an awkward bent angle as Dianna went into the bathroom, cutting the lights on as she did so. Silence pestered between them as Naya squinted her eyes shut against the harsh white light, curled her arms against her chest in an effort to remain somewhat put together. But she knew where this was going. Dianna knew she wasn't getting out of bed, that she couldn't physically conjure herself into a state of activity. The same thing happened when Heather first ditched Naya, told her she wouldn't and couldn't be with her _in that way_. Naya woke in nearly the same way with Dianna in nearly the same position on top of her, commanding her to life.

Life had lost her a long time ago, but she wouldn't tell Di that.

She wouldn't tell Di how everything had gone haywire since that phone call some days ago. She wouldn't tell Di how she hadn't eaten, hadn't showered, hadn't peed in days. She wouldn't tell Di how she wouldn't even answer Heather's call.

She wouldn't do any of that. Dianna didn't deserve her sob story.

Naya tried not to notice as Dianna started to strip the clothes from her body.

She tried not to notice as her underwear and bra were pushed off in earnest attempt.

She tried not to notice when the hot water cascaded down her naked back, hair, arms, legs, chest as she was pushed into the steaming glass shower stall.

Dianna noticed when Naya started to cry.

Dianna noticed when Naya fell down in the shower, racks of sobs breaking through her heaving chest, and curled into the fetal position, clutching onto her knees for dear life. Naya was so completely broken, so fragile. This woman was who Dianna considered one of her best friends, and she needed her best friend more than ever right now.

Dianna knew she wasn't who Naya wanted. But she wanted to help.

So she did.

Dianna didn't mind the water; she climbed into the shower fully clothed, stepped and crouched behind her friend, leaned against the glass wall with Naya between her legs. Naya stopped crying for a small moment, looked into Dianna's almost hopeful green eyes. Dianna pursed her lips together to form a smile; it was a small but valiant effort of reassurance.

Naya appreciated the effort; she tried to make it count.

Dianna cradled Naya back and forth in her arms, let her sob for almost an hour in the slowly cooling off water. By the time Naya's tears ran dry, the water had them both shivering. Dianna got up first, and Naya almost forgot she was responsible for holding herself upright from lack of support. She slid her hands past her eyes, but it was no use; her whole body was soaked.

Di laughed a little at that.

Naya did, too.

Dianna wrapped a plush white towel around Naya's shoulders and held her a little closer in attempt to warm her. Naya shook, but not from the cold. She was misunderstood in that fashion. She didn't need the warmth Dianna was more than willing to give; she just needed to breathe. She had cried for so long her body was just catching up with her.

Di plopped them down on the floor of the bathroom, in the middle of a cream shag rug, right beside the heater; she turned that on high just in case.

"I'm assuming you don't want to talk about it." Dianna barely whispered this statement, sure she was right.

Naya rolled her eyes. "You know what assuming gets you, Di."

"An ass out of you and me," Dianna laughed out in shaky pieces.

At least she still had her sense of humor.

"She's pregnant, Di." Naya looked down at her hands in her lap; they were shaking. Her eyes crinkled together a little and her lips folded together and Di just knew she was about to lose it again.

"I know. I know she is." Dianna grabbed Naya's hand and held it in between hers.

Naya didn't want to cry anymore. She didn't want to be pitied; she didn't want to lose control of herself like she did in that shower. All she wanted was some calm.

"Look, Nay, I know you miss her, and I know it's been so hard to not see her and talk to her and love her like you had been. But this distance has to end in something good. It wasn't meant to be if she doesn't see how much you loved her. She loves _him_, and they're having a baby." Di pushed a piece of hair from Naya's face. "You have to let her go gracefully; you'll kill yourself letting this tear you apart."

Wasn't that the truth?

But Naya knew. She knew this was a sink or swim situation. She'd have to be strong, let Heather go, let her be happy in her own life, with her own perfect little family.

She just didn't know if she could do that as fast as she needed to.

Dianna looked down at her watch—it was soaked. Awesome. "Look, Nay, it's past 4. We're so late. Let's just call it a day."

Dianna rubbed her hands up and down the forearms of her friend.

She knew Naya wasn't cold.


	4. Chapter 4

_There are times when it takes much more strength to know when to let go and then do it._

_Ann Landers_

Naya opened her eyes and it was morning. She remembered little from the day before apart from Dianna removing her from her safe haven to shower, but turned into a fiasco of epic proportions. Di pulled her back into bed after that, realizing that was all Naya needed.

But it wasn't what Naya needed. She knew that; she can't give Naya what she needs.

They lay in bed the whole afternoon, watching television but not really paying attention to the screen. Eventually the stillness of their presences led to slumber, and they went off into their dreams with few words and even fewer glances. It was uncomfortable for Dianna, resisting temptation to help Naya, to talk to her. She didn't want to talk. She didn't want to live, if that was at all obvious. She was in love with someone who had pushed her away, for not the first time, but definitely not the last god damn time. Naya was used to being left behind, but not by someone who she loved with all her heart.

That was where her and Santana were a little similar. They were both too strong to appear so broken.

For years, there had been nothing but love between the two of them, and now what? They let all of that go because Heather was pregnant and Naya was pushed out? Taylor was an ass anyway. Baseball was his priority while Heather came in a slow second. While Heather had always said marriage and their future children would always come first before acting (and with that, Naya), Taylor had never shown the same interest. Heather would show up on Naya's doorstep countless times, sob over Taylor's lack of consideration, dissenting ideas for the future, and feeling of control over her. Naya held her when she cried, told her it would be okay, that he was just a stupid boy and she didn't need him anyway.

Heather had laughed at the reference.

She didn't understand then, why Naya had made the reference.

But now she's pregnant, and now what?

Does Naya call? Does Naya congratulate her? Does Naya do anything that involves coming into contact with Heather period?

She doesn't want to.

But, _oh_, does she want to.

Dianna thinks it's just what Naya needs—to see her, to talk to her. But Naya knows what would happen. Heather would tell her this is childish of her, selfish to think she has some say in their relationship after the events that went down almost a year ago. Too many months ago was the last real conversation they had, and it was all too real now that it would most likely be their last forever. Naya was almost okay with that. It would be better than being slapped with her own emotions by the one she cannot hurt back.

But Naya would rather be hurt and not fight back than cause further damage.

Dianna disagrees.

"You have to at least try. Make an effort! You never know how she feels because you never _listen_, you just catch her in the brink of a moment when she doesn't know _what _to feel, so she lashes out! You have to give her a chance to explain. And if you don't do that, at least let her tell you how she feels regarding what happens next. You need to know how to feel now—if you should, you know."

Move on.

That's what Dianna was referring to.

But moving on requires too much effort and too little _Heather_. Moving on would be giving up completely. Moving on would mean admitting that it would and could never work, which no matter how hard she loved, she had to admit was probably true. She just couldn't not _try._

Not trying wasn't something she did. Loving Heather was.

Loving Heather was her thing, her only interest in this crazy miserable life. She just wanted to love Heather day in and day night, hold her when she cried forever and a day, let her know that _she will be loved_. She wanted to be there for the first breath of this child because even though it wasn't hers, she knew how much she would love Heather's child simply because it was half Heather.

But they all knew that wasn't her place, no matter how badly she wished and wanted.

Dianna wouldn't have any of it. Naya tried to tell her it could work out maybe someday in the future when Taylor messes up and things can be like they were and—

"But they will NEVER be the same because it was a one-time thing, Nay! It happened one night and you were DRUNK. And _she w_as DRUNK. And she regretted it! She hated that you seduced her and she hated that she cheated on the love of her life! There's nothing that's going to change if you persist; it will just. get. old. So move on, Nay. Get out of whatever rut this is and move on. She's gonna forget when she holds that precious baby in her arms. Not about you—just the sex. She'll want you there for that baby being born, she's gonna want you there to celebrate birthdays, first steps, first words, and a wedding that you'll be the maid of honor in. She wants you in her life but NOT in the way you want to be in hers. Be there for her. Be her person, like you used to. It doesn't have to be such a wishy-washy thing. Don't make conditions. Be there how _she_ needs you to be there for her."

Di left with that. She was furious.

Naya rolled over and tried to get some more sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Naya supposes she should get out of bed. It's been a week since she's been in sunlight and her body is starting to suffer from lack of living. She feels like she's lost ten pounds and her mouth is ferociously dry from lack of water. Her lips are cracking, her skin is oily and her hair is just a rats' nest at this point. She's past this point of feeling disgusting, so she does indeed get out of bed. It's been 24 hours since Dianna walked out, angry as hell, telling Naya to get over Heather. It's whatever to Naya. She knows she can't, and she's not going to pretend that she has any intention to forget what happened between them. Some would call it an energy exchange. She calls it love. Maybe it is.

Heather was one to use her body for emotion. She moved through the motions in a very physical way. Naya knew and recognized that. When Heather was frustrated she would flick a hair bow on her wrist, stomp in place, blink her eyelashes multiple times in effort to understand. When she was sad, she would stare off, sway back and forth while running her hands back and forth through her hair, pouting her bottom lip out in a way that would be completely obscene for anyone above the age of 6, except it was Heather, and everything Heather did was cute.

But these were little things Naya always recognized of her best friend. No one else might be able to tell you these specific details, but Naya could. Naya's personal favorites were the things Heather did that made Naya fall in love with her in the first place.

Like when Heather drinks her coffee, she always licks her lips repeatedly to make sure there isn't any residue that would show on her perfect pink mouth.

Like when Heather would dance with Harry, just the two of them, when she thought no one else was watching.

Naya was watching.

Heather would dance on her tip toes, sometimes the very edge of her heels, bowing herself into extreme shapes and lines that were completely perpendicular to her natural stature, contorting herself into something totally, tragically beautiful.

Heather wore her hair up when she danced most of the time. But the hair ties never seemed to be able to hold back the baby hairs that sprouted out of the crown of her head. In the middle of the practice numbers, Naya saw Heather blow at the teensy little hairs, a furrowed brow as she tried with all her might to complete the steps and simultaneously blow her hair out of her face, and it was so cute Naya could die.

Gah, she's ridiculous, she thinks.

Baby hairs? How is that cute?

But don't get her wrong—if you were to ask, Naya would say anything Heather does is cute.

But right now there is the question of whether those little things of Heather's would ever make an appearance in Naya's life again. If it were up to Naya, Heather would come running into Naya's life again, telling her she misses her, needs her in her life. That would make things so much easier. But she knows that's unlikely. She'll never give up hope, though.

Naya slowly sits up in bed, blood swelling in her forehead area, blacking her sight for a minute. Regaining vision, she awkwardly throws her legs off of the side of the bed, holding the side of the mattress with both hands as she makes her way onto her feet. Her body isn't functioning correctly at all. She stands regardless, hoping whatever strength she can muster will suffice till she gets to the shower.

Her legs almost fail her, but she gets to the shower in one piece, however unbalanced the travel was. She holds onto the silver handle in the shower stall and turns on the cold water, immediately waking her up more. Her eyes open wide and she shrieks in shock, hops backwards to avoid the freezing temperatures. She wipes her now wet hair out of her eyes and feels a whole lot better. She moves the water to warm and moves under the stream slowly, grabbing the shampoo as she did so.

She washes her hair, conditions it. Washes her body, feels the soap sink into her pores, removing the oils that invaded her once flawless skin. She shaves, which is a struggle. Balancing on two legs is hard enough—add the fact that she has to put one up to strip the hairs away. Even now, after a week of laying in self-pity, she can feel the effects of lack of physical activity on her legs. They aren't as muscular, and her arms hurt from the persistent scrubbing that is being ensued. Her hair is thinner now; more strands are falling out and into the drain. Her ribs are poking out more than usual and her stomach is now growling more than she thinks it ever has. She hadn't really noticed until now all of these changes in herself.

She rinses her body off and stops the running water. Slowly, she makes her way out of the shower stall and into the steamy bathroom, wiping the condensation off of the mirror with her towel.

God, she looks hideous.

Her eyebrows are desperate for their weekly plucking, which she's missed for the second week in a row. Tiny black hairs forced themselves around her usually perfected arches. Her eyes have black bags under and around them, which doesn't make sense—she's slept almost too much lately. Her cheekbones are highlighted through her skin and her lips are an awful shade of pale. Her face is lighter, too, considering the hot weather outside. She holds up her arms and links her hands together in the air above her head, observing the lack of definition. At least she shaved her armpits.

She brushes her teeth and notices how filthy they felt before. A fine film had settled over her teeth, and even after brushing, they don't look nearly as white as they did a week ago. But, man, do they feel better.

She puts on deodorant and a bit of mascara, eyeliner on the edges of her eyes, just the way she likes it. She blow-dries her hair just enough so that it isn't soaking wet, adds straightening cream to make it softer and smoother. She puts in a black headband that isn't hers and pushes her hair out of her eyes.

She walks back into the bedroom and goes into the closet, picking a light pink tank top and some white shorts off of her rack. She dresses carefully, trying not to fall over.

Finally, she eats. And she eats a lot.

Eggs. Four of them, scrambled, with kosher salt on top and hot sauce on the side. She gets that from her dad. Bacon. 5 pieces, fried in the frying pan like her mom taught her. An orange—clementine, from the organic farm in the country where the owner knows her first name and thinks she's a normal person. Two bananas from that same farm, one mango from Whole Foods.

When she's done, she washes the dishes and stands awkwardly in the kitchen, not knowing what to do next. She barely remembers what she used to do before everything went wrong.

Oh. Her phone.

That used to keep her busy. But she doesn't think her phone works anymore.

She's wrong.

She walks back into the bedroom and grabs the cracked phone, turning it on.

She doesn't expect what she finds when it's powered.

_43 Missed Calls_

_Dianna (6)_

_Lea (4)_

_Mark (2)_

_Heather (31)_

She gulps.


	6. Chapter 6

_It's better to lose than to never have had._

_Jonathan Safran Foer_

A swooning, uneven, unbelieving, and uncomfortable realization crept over Naya as she realized what she was witnessing. Heather had called her. Not once, either. But this was surely a mistake. There couldn't be a reason for Heather to call this many times. Maybe she meant to call someone else. Maybe she was using Naya's number as a test call because her phone was broken or something. Maybe she was just being cruel.

Maybe she just really wanted to talk to Naya.

But that would be absurd, Naya decided. Naya paced back in forth in the small kitchen of her home, cradling the small, horribly disfigured iPhone in the small of her chest. There was angst, there was territory not to be crossed. Because if she called Heather back and this _was _anything other than Heather just wanting to talk, it might kill Naya. There was territory not to be crossed, for it might send Naya over the deep end.

But she should try. Just in case.

Soon her fingers were dialing a well-known phone number that were weary to her touch, for it had been months since this number was of use to Naya. There were memories too associated with this contact, this simple number pattern, that held love, faith, and pain all wrapped up together in a tomb of stolen happiness and white-washed regrets. Naya dialed this number in her phone and watched as her fingers reluctantly but not reluctantly pressed the bright green, bottom-center button with a little white telephone. The button that would ultimately connect her with the person she had no connection with. Not anymore, at least.

The phone released a click and a dial tone before a humming in the form of a waiting call came, and Naya's heart was beating too fast to recognize that a voice had answered the phone. A feminine voice with a hesitating whisper of a, _"hey"_, that sent tears to Naya's eyes. She quickly lifted the phone to her ear, and in a throaty croak responded.

"You called?" She shut her eyes.

"Jenna and Dianna have been calling me nonstop, telling me you've been locked up in that house, not bothering to talk to anyone. They care about your feelings and you won't even let them in. They wanted me to call, to make sure you're okay. Are you? Are you okay?"

Of god-damn course it came back to Jenna and Dianna. Heather would never just call. Not since everything was splattered around and they created a mess of things. Of their relationship.

Naya got ballsy. She was pissed. "Yeah, gee, Heath, I'm doing _fabulous_. Ya know, I don't know which part is better—hearing you're pregnant from our fucking cast mate, or you calling to give me shit about being upset over hearing you're pregnant from our _fucking cast mate_. God dammit, you didn't even have the nerve to tell me yourself? What the hell, I'm not a damn baby bird! I can hold my own, Heather."

She was choking back tears, now. They burned her sockets, but at that point, it might have been the anger seething inside her, causing her blood to boil.

"It's not just "being upset" anymore when you don't get out of bed for a week. And what, now you're blaming me for not telling you myself? Because how awesome would that have been, Nay? I haven't called you in 9 months and, oh yeah, hey girl, by the way, I'm preggers? How well would _that _have gone? You wouldn't want me to call. You wouldn't want me to tell you that kind of news out of the blue. But shit, Naya, it's not okay for you to put this on me. We both had faults in this crap."

Naya grabbed the side of the granite counter beside her and squeezed until some of her anger-mixed adrenaline was released through her fingertips. She counted to ten.

"_This crap_ you're talking about—are you referring to our relationship? Is that what it meant to you?"

She heard Heather sigh. She knew what that meant. Heather, Dianna, they'd all heard it before—Naya wanting someone other than herself to admit that their "relationship" meant something other than casual, one-time sex.

"Nay, it was meaningless. We were so drunk. We were young and stupid. I had a boyfriend coming home to me, and you had a boyfriend to go home _to_. I don't know about you, but my relationship meant something to me—something impenetrable, something meaningless sex had nothing on."

"It must not have meant all that much to you if you let me bang you, huh?"

Naya knew she'd gone too far.

Heather and Taylor's relationship was always off limits.

"I don't know why I called you. Just do me a favor and don't show up to the cast's farewell party later this month." God, now Heather was crying. Shit. "And yeah, don't come to my baby shower, whenever it will be. Don't come to the hospital when this baby is born, and _don't fucking_ come to my house with wine and a movie expecting to make this all better like everything god damned other time you screw shit up and want it to be twisted back together. Smashing the wrong pieces of a puzzle together just to make them fit doesn't make a pretty picture, Naya. I'm done."

There were two small beeps in her ear, and Naya looked down to see a "call ended" message on her phone.

Naya glanced slowly around the room, in recognition of the turmoil in suit. She pursed her lips, nodding slowly to herself, and walked toward the sink.

She put her phone gingerly, bottom down, in the garbage disposal entrance, and flipped the switch.

The sound of metal on metal could not be heard over the sobs racking through Naya's body.


	7. Chapter 7

_Those who do not move do not notice their chains._

_Rosa Luxemburg_

It would have been easy for Naya to stay in bed for another week and soak in her despair like she so wanted to. It would have been easy for her to admit that the conversation with Heather made her want to punch a wall, but she knew how little that'd do for her if she broke her hand and then had to explain to a carpenter how such a hole came into being. It would have been easy for Naya to call Dianna and tell her she couldn't come in, yet again, and could she please explain to Ryan. It would have been easy for Naya to wonder at that point how she still even had a job.

But if there was one thing that wasn't easy for Naya, it was coming to terms with the fact that there wasn't the slightest of attachment between her and Heather Morris anymore.

There wasn't going to be a bridal shower with Naya posing in a cutsie bridesmaid dress, sitting next to her best friend on a couch assisting in present opening.

There wasn't going to be a surprise baby shower Naya could plan, complete with binkies spread over white linen covered picnic tables in a park in central LA, where the sun would shine down on Heather's hair and make everything seem brighter. Make everything _be_ brighter.

There wasn't going to be a happy ending if Naya could help it. She was coming to realize that with the difficulties with which the situation existed. There were too many loose ends that needed to converge, and too little time in which to glue the ends back together.

If Naya had her way, things would be easier on both sides. Naya would go to Heather's and apologize—admittedly, in a very similar way to the way Heather accused Naya of apologizing. Naya would apologize in any way she knew how if she knew for a fact there would be a guaranteed acceptance from Heather's end. But that was never a guarantee. She'd fucked up. She always fucked up when it came to Heather.

There were times when Naya would simply try and understand from the blonde's point of view how it must feel to be in love with someone, but have another creeping over your shoulder at every hour, wondering when the lust would turn into love.

The lust had never, would never, and now could never turn into love. That was something Naya had to accept.

Naya would never give up, though. Not on the chance to love Heather with all her heart in every possible way she could. There were too many moments to pass up, too many futuristic memories that could exist between the two women.

No, Naya couldn't give up, but she wouldn't wait it out in her bed, either. So, after two days of excruciating recall on the conversation she had with Heather Morris, Naya removed herself from her bed once again and prepared herself for a new day. A new day without Heather.

That thought was enough to make her want to crawl back into her cocoon of a comforter. But she didn't.

Naya readied herself and finished off with a pair of studs in her small earlobes.

They were pearls, pearls Heather had convinced Naya to buy in a small beach shop at the coast. Two years ago, when they were still best friends, Heather knew what looked best on Naya, and she was sure the pearls would bring out something special in Naya's soul, if she only bought them. So, Naya being prisoner to the begging with which Heather persisted, she bought the earrings without a trace of reluctance. She still wore them occasionally, but not too often, for the memories attached to the small pearls were hard to suppress out there in the open, whenever she passed a mirror and saw the tiny white bulbs of beauty protruding from her ears. But today it was worth it.

Naya grabbed her purse and a pair of brown aviator-style Ray-Bans. With white skinny jeans and a flowing pink tank top, her tan was shown off more than usual. She wore Jack Rogers flats today; no use wearing heels when she was still so sore from all the bed rest. Catching a final glance back at herself on the way out the door, she had to admit, she looked overwhelmingly better than when she had looked in the mirror this morning, two days ago, a week and a half ago. She was almost very confident.

Naya nodded at herself in the mirror for personal reassurance and made her way to her car, parked in the garage. She laughed a little, trying to remember the last time she had left her house. If she were being completely honest, Naya had no idea what day it was. She could guess, but she would probably make a fool out of herself. So, instead of shaming over her small disappearance and therefore lack of knowledge to time itself, Naya turned up the radio and hummed quietly, backing out into the driveway, then the road, then the highway.

She drove the whole way to the Glee set without once realizing "A Song for You" was on repeat.

By the time she got to the studio entrance, people were staring. At what, she didn't know. Whether it was the mysterious reappearance of the Latina, the look of sickness upon her after however long of lying in her bed, or if it was just because Naya was so damn beautiful, she could only guess.

That last guess she thought with a smart-ass accent in her mind.

She glided into the main area where the rest of the cast was casually chatting amongst themselves. When Naya removed her sunglasses from over her eyes, she could hear the noticeable change of volume in the room. She looked around and no one said a word. Not to her, not to anyone else. They simply stared, shuffled their feet in an air of discomfort, flashed glances back to a certain actress in the corner of the room who appeared a little bigger in the waist than normal.

Naya didn't say anything to anyone. She walked past the herd and went to her trailer.

In the quiet of her small, personal space, she let herself realize how stupid she was for thinking she was ready for something like this.


End file.
